


Distortion

by DorthyAnn (JenniferMarie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Accident, Dubious Morality, Horror, Identity, Loss of Identity, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Psychological Horror, issolation, loss of senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferMarie/pseuds/DorthyAnn
Summary: Harry wakes in darkness. A darkness that goes on and on without end. He can’t see or feel, he doesn’t know what’s happened. All he can do is hold on, replaying his memories to keep him sane. Until it’s over. Until he can go home again.





	Distortion

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to mods for their patience and understanding and Thank you to my sis for Betaing for me and Thank you to the prompter!!! This story was a lot of fun to write♡♡♡

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141957456@N02/42194555212/in/dateposted-public/)

  


Harry looked around.

He tried to blink. Nothing happened.

Harry tried to touch his face, his arms, his- anything. He tried to flex his hands. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel anything.

A wave of panic hit him, he scrambled, reached, ran, screamed, or he tried to. Nothing happened. He didn't even feel winded. He- he had no body.

_Think rationally,_ Harry told himself sternly; _Panicking won't help._

The last thing he remembered was getting ready for a massive raid on a group thought to be behind a string of muggle attacks in Poland. The group had already attacked three muggles in London. 

The raid must have gone bad.

Harry had been knocked out before. He'd been unconscious for a week and a half after getting caught by a blasting spell. He'd never been aware during it, that he remembered anyway.

It might be worse this time.

_It could be a proper coma_ , Harry thought.  _Or..._ fear trickled in with the new thought,  _a curse._

He had heard of curses that put you in an enchanted sleep but... this didn't feel like sleep. There were curses that made a person look asleep, and when it was broken, the person was different than before, sometimes they were so far gone they ended up in the Janus Thickley ward for the rest of their lives. There were a lot of curses that messed with your mind.

Whatever it was, he wasn't going to let it break him. He had no doubt that the Healers at Mungo's would figure out what had happened to him and fix it.

He just had to hold on and wait.

  


* * *

  


_Eggs._

_Bread._

_Probably extra bread- the nice stuff_

_Orange marmalade-_

Harry grinned to himself; Gin'd be wanting the gross brand with little weird sugary bits that she only liked when she was pregnant.

_Pumpkin juice_

_Instant Coffee_

_Flowers-_

Harry knew Ginny had to be worried sick. Was she alright?

It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine.

And he should pick up some tea and some instant coffee for the office...

  


* * *

  


Polyjuice potion was... fluxweed, knotgrass, stewed lacewing flies, leeches... horn of a bi-corn, more lacewing flies, boomslang skin and hair.

Harry ran through the ingredients in his mind again

That was right. He was certain... Yeah.

Wiggenwald Potion was made with Horklump juice, flobberworm mucus, chizpurfle fangs, billywig sting slime, boom berry juice, stewed mandrake... honey water, sloth brain, moondew drops, salamander blood, lionfish spines, unicorn horn and wolfsbane.

There was... what was missing? Something...

_Mint. A sprig of mint._

Harry sighed mentally.

What if they never figured it out? ...What if he was a vegetable, trapped in a catatonic body. And this was the rest of his life.

No.

He wasn't going to go mad.

He wasn't going to lose his mind.

He shook himself and picked another potion.

Pepper-up:

  


* * *

  


Harry tried to remember his very first memory. Not the one where he saw his mother die, that had been Riddle's memory, not his. 

It was at the Dursley's. He'd been four or five; it was definitely before he started school. He'd been carrying the plates from dinner into the kitchen and going slow because they were heavy... heavy because he'd tried to take all of them at once instead of one at a time. 

There was a step stool in front of the sink so he could reach it. Harry had used that stool until he was nine. When he only took one plate, he could hold the plate in one hand and grab the counter with the other to help keep his balance as he climbed the small narrow steps. He had to hold the plates with both hands this time, but he must have thought he could manage if he was careful and went slow.

Harry could still vividly remember the top plate slipping off and trying to catch it and dropping all of them instead. And the noise. It had been the loudest noise in the world. Nothing had broken, but he still knew he was in trouble. He'd just stood there, looking at the mess and waiting for what was to come.

In what was seconds but he remembered feeling like forever, Petunia had stormed in, yelling, calling him a good for nothing and smacked the side of his head. It hadn't hurt, but it made him want to cry all the same. He didn't because it would get him in even more trouble. He'd just stood there, trying not to cry, clutching his oversized shirt as Petunia dumped the dishes in the sink, so loud it made him jump, and shoved a sponge and a rag in his hands to wipe up the floor before he did the dishes.

Petunia had warned him to finish before it was time for bed and went back to the living room where Vernon and Dudley were watching the telly. And Harry had cleaned the floor and hated them all with all his heart. 

No. He hadn't hated them yet. It was a few years later that he finally realized nothing he ever did would be enough.

_Lovely times_ Harry mused bitterly, wishing he could stretch and take a walk, shake off the feeling of it. He missed Ginny so much he felt like he might die, and James, still toddling around and making nonsense noises- the look on his face when he saw Harry back from work, he would light up and laugh and- and-

Harry felt the despair sweep over him like a lead weight. He forced himself to be calm. He forced himself not to think about it anymore.

He did his best to recall his next solid memory in as much detail as he could.

  


* * *

  


Harry  
could remember the way the velvet hangings felt, soft and a little worn. The way the light would stream into the common room in the morning. There was one floorboard on the way to the bathroom that squeaked so loudly any unlucky Gryffindor that stepped on it would be smothered with pillows for waking up their dorm mates- 

...

-Harry  _heard_ something.

He strained after- whatever it was... it was muffled, but it sounded like a door opening. The door shut and there were... faint footsteps, rustling and the click of something like metal boxes being opened and closed. Then a box opened right- all around him, so loud he wanted to cover his ears and a sound like someone rubbing a cloth over a phone receiver.

Light.

Harry saw- He could see- a dark room and a face and-

Gone.

The metal slammed shut.

Darkness again.

Harry tried shouting, tried screaming. He wanted-  _anything_ . That glimpse had been- he needed more! He wanted to weep for wanting anything more than being trapped in this hell for even a second longer!

If he could just-!

It wasn't entirely silent.

Harry focused everything on listening

He could still hear faint sounds, clinking and footsteps, once the murmur of voices and the wumpf of a floo.

Harry waited.

Something was happening. 

Finally.

That horrible metal sound happened again but Harry ready for it this time. He was flooded with light, it was so bright he couldn't make anything out but outlines.

_Is anyone there! Hello! Someone! Anyone?!_ Harry shouted, tried to shout, but it was still only the voice in his own head.

He still couldn't feel anything.

So he really was paralysed?

At least he could see and hear.

At least he wasn't trapped in darkness.

The ceiling. It was so tall, and there was a chandelier. 

This wasn't St. Mungos.

Where was he?

Harry heard papers rustling and feet shuffling nearby. Whoever it was finally stepped closer and Harry saw hands, pale, masculine, the sleeves of their robes were black and tight fitted up to the elbow like potion brewers tended to prefer. It looked tailored and made of expensive fabric. 

No healer Harry had ever seen wore robes like that. Perhaps Ginny had hired a private brewer or healer. 

Those hands reached down, and in a heartbeat, Harry was lifted and moved- so fast it would have made him sick if he could feel his stomach. They had moved him like he weighed nothing and their hands-

_Malfoy?_

Harry stared at the face of the person holding him up. He'd know that pointy snobbish face anywhere.

Malfoy was staring at him with a frown.

Harry stared back. Was he in Malfoy's house? In the Manor? Malfoy wasn't a healer. He wasn't a potion master. 

What the fuck was going on?

_Malfoy?!_

Malfoy laid him back down, and Harry could see him draw his wand.

_Don't you fucking-!_

Several spells washed over Harry that he didn't recognise. Nothing happened.

Malfoy's frown deepened. He picked up a book and flipped through it.

Had he been kidnapped? Was Malfoy behind everything? Maybe it wasn't a raid gone wrong. Maybe Malfoy was going to – what? Kill him? Hurt him? Torture him for information?

Malfoy cast more spells over him, more slowly than the last, referring back to his book.

“Can you hear me?” Malfoy asked.

Harry hesitated, “...Hello? Oh, Merlin! I can- You can hear me-?”

“I can hear you,” Malfoy said, his eyes wide.

“What the fuck is this, Malfoy? What have you done? Let me go!” Harry yelled.

Malfoy shook his head, “I didn't-”

“You won't get away with this! Just let me go now it-” _will be easier for y-_

“That's better,” Draco said, lowering his wand. “I know you have no manners, but you could at least try to listen.”

_Let me talk! Let me-! Damn you! Fuck you fuck you!_ Harry snarled.

“I didn't do this to you,” Malfoy said, “but I did bring you here.”

_Let me go! Let me go! Let me leave! Let me go back to my family! You fuck!_

Malfoy stared at him thoughtfully, tapping his finger on the table.

_Where's Ginny?! And James? ...James... Please. Let me go back home. I want to see them! Please!_ Harry pleaded.

“Perhaps, it would be more expedient just to show you,” Malfoy said. He picked up his wand and Harry could hear him conjure something.

Malfoy picked him up and turned, the world falling out from under him with a lurch.

The walls were entirely covered in bookshelves. There was a small settee and table by a small fireplace, a door and Harry could see Malfoy. He couldn't see himself. He could see Malfoy reflected in a mirror, but where Harry should have been, there was another mirror.

Harry didn't understand. 

It didn't make sense. 

Malfoy walked closer, “Do you see now?”

The mirror in Malfoy's hands was an oval, about the size of a dinner plate, the surface cloudy like a grey mist was trapped beneath the glass.

“Now, if you'll behave. We can talk like civilised human beings,” Malfoy turned and set him back down on the table, casting that spell over him again.

“...Was I cursed?” Harry asked in a measured tone, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice.

“It's not a curse, Potter,” Malfoy said.

“If you take me to the ministry. The aurors will-”

“Put you right back where I found you, I'd imagine,” Malfoy said flatly.

“Put me back?” Harry repeated numbly.

Malfoy nodded, “In the cupboard I found you in.” He held up a large thin metal box, “Locked in this.”

“In that box,” Harry said flatly

“And I would be in quite a lot of trouble for theft,” Malfoy said.

Harry want to shake his head, to back away but he couldn't. He couldn't even hope to, trapped in a mirror, “Why am I in a mirror? Why was I locked away? Aren't they trying to save me? Isn't anyone doing- something?”

Malfoy sighed and sat down, tipping Harry's mirror up he could still see him. “I occasionally work for the department of mysteries-”

“I hadn't heard you were working there,” Harry interrupted.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, “Unofficially, of course. They wouldn't want my filthy name tainting their reputation.” 

Harry wasn't sure he believed it. He'd been an auror for years and, they worked with the Unspeakables pretty often. He couldn't remember ever seeing Malfoy there.

Malfoy sniffed and went on, “The head of mind and memory research was working on a spell that could copy a person's mind and store it in a primed magical instrument.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“So impatient, Potter.” Malfoy said distastefully, “Let me finish if you please or I'll have to silence you again.”

Harry choked down his automatic complaint in a wave of panic at the idea of being unable to speak again.

“Better,” Malfoy said, “The idea was that if a person had an accident that damaged or destroyed their mind, they would have a back-up, a copy,” he gestured to Harry. “Naturally, the aurors were the perfect candidates to test the idea. It's a shame none of you suffered any head injuries or tricky obliviates since the program started.”

Malfoy frowned in thought and grabbed a sheaf of parchment from the desk, flipping through the notes.

Harry's mind was whirling. It was horrible. It was just too horrible. It couldn't- It just couldn't be.

“How long have you been aware?” Malfoy asked without looking up.

“I-” Harry couldn't focus. There had to be something- a better explanation than this, “...I don't remember a spell that would copy my memory.”

“I wouldn't think you would,” Malfoy said.

“I would. I think I would,” Harry said, grasping desperately after the idea.

Malfoy patiently explained, “Memories are largely imprinted when we sleep, you wouldn't remember the day the spell was cast-”

“But I would remember the days before, and we'd be debriefed first,” Harry said, “We always have to sign disclosures and contracts before we work with the Unspeakables. That's how it's always gone. This isn't right-”

“Yes, well perhaps this time was-”

“This is a _trick_ or- or a _trap_!” Harry raised his voice over Malfoy's. Harry couldn't stand to hear any more out of his mouth. He _couldn't_ , “I was preparing for a massive raid, the whole department was! Something went wrong! I've been captured and this is a trick, or I'm delusional! This is just a potion fever, and none-” _of it is real. And...and... I'm going to...wake up. Soon. soon._

“Good grief,” Malfoy said in utter exasperation. He put his wand back down with a click and stood up, dropping his notes and grabbing Harry.

Harry saw the box out of the corner of his eye, and he was flooded with panic, _No no nonono, I'll be good, I'll be- don't. Don't, please!_

But Malfoy turned him past the box and to the curtained window behind the desk. He pushed the heavy fabric back just far enough to put Harry on the windowsill, the edge of the mirror pressing to the glass.

It was beautiful outside. The lawns were green, trees were budding, roses were blooming and, there were birds singing happily in the sunshine.

It almost looked like spring.

A group of white peacocks moved between perfectly manicured hedges

It couldn't be spring. 

It had been september. 

It was autumn. Not spring.

Not...

...

Nightmares.

Harry knew about nightmares. He had them all his life. He knew the worst kinds a person could ever get. He'd never had one like this. He'd never known such a beautiful view could be the most frightening of them all.

  


* * *

  


He watched the clouds blow across an endless blue horizon that turned pink as the sun set. He watched the stars and the moon cross the sky. Days came and nights passed. 

It was easier with something to watch, to focus his mind on and a way to keep track of time. For all his efforts though, sometimes, in the darkest nights when clouds stole all the light from the world, and it was like being in the box all over again, he would think about Ginny and James, about Hermione and Ron, Molly and Ginny, Nev and Luna, his friends- his _family_.

He felt lost.

But no one came to find him.

Did they know he was missing?

Was he missed?

Or 

or

was...

was it-?

The afternoon of the fifth day, Malfoy grabbed the mirror again in a horrible blur of movement.

“Hello, Potter. We're going on a little field trip,” Malfoy said, he tapped his wand on the mirror frame, murmuring an illusion charm, “You make a lovely painting.”

Malfoy tucked Harry under his arm and set off down the long endless hallways.

“And- no I won't be removing the silencing charm. Also, don't get any ideas about this happening more than this once.” Malfoy said briskly, “This is for demonstration purposes only.”

Malfoy stepped through a massive floo fireplace and into the Ministry atrium. He walked along the edge of the room, lifting Harry and balancing him on the top of a small display case that gave him a view over the whole room. A podium had been set up at the corner in a very familiar way. 

This was a press conference. Harry was used to being the one behind the podium, not in the crowd but he still recognised the reporters from Witch Weekly, the Prophet and the Quibbler. There also seemed to be a lot of folks from the auror's and a few other departments. Everyone there looked familiar.

“Let's get this over with, alright?”

Harry watched _himself_ walk up to the podium.

He looked tired.

His hair was a mess and his stubble was worse than normal.

And-

And he was holding James on one hip. James looked half asleep, rubbing his cheek against Harry's shoulder grumpily.

James had grown. So much.

Harry at the podium held up a hand for silence, “I'm only going to say this once then I'm going back, and you lot can bugger off for-” he sighed, “-at least a couple days? Have a heart?” He joked and grinned tiredly.

The crowd chuckled in response.

Harry nodded, “So, Ginny's fine, no problems or complications. The baby's alright.”

_the baby? It's not- Ginny just told me she was-_

“It's a boy,” Harry went on and couldn't hide the smile of pure delight on his face, “he's called Albus Severus Potter, in honour of some of the most influential people in my life, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.”

Malfoy snorted under his breath, “ _Albus Severus_?”

“Who does he take after?” The Witch Weekly journalist asked.

Harry grinned, “Me I'm afraid.”

The crowd laughed.

James whined loudly, clutching at Harry's shirt.

Harry laughed and rubbed James back. “That means time's up. Black hair, green eyes, eight pounds, seven ounces, healthy as a horse. Alright? You can get your pictures later,” Harry said quickly, already heading off the podium to the Minister's office where he'd probably floo back to St. Mungo's.

Malfoy picked the mirror back up and carried it back to the floo and through the manor. He set the mirror down on his desk and removed the silencing spell.

“So now you see. It's not a trick or a trap,” Malfoy said, sweeping his cloak from his shoulders and dropping it on a waiting house elf.

“...I _am_ the mirror.”

Malfoy frowned, “I suppose that's an acceptable interpretation.” 

“...It's spring...”

“The end of March,” Malfoy clarified.

“...”

Malfoy sat down, “Now we can have a decent conversation, I hope. No more yelling or accusations?”

The chair squeaked as Malfoy leaned back. “How long were you aware?” he asked.

The chair squeaked as Malfoy leaned forward, “Potter? Are you there?”

He cast spell after spell over the mirror with a frown and finally left in a huff or annoyance.

Night passed into day, and it wasn't until late evening that Malfoy returned, throwing a dark travel cloak onto the floor and dropping back into his chair heavily.

“Are you there Potter?” Malfoy asked. He smoothed his hair, leaning back with a sigh, “...I went back to storage they were keeping you in. There were fourteen mirrors in all. They were all silent except one. Weasley's copy spoke briefly-”

“Ron?” The mirror asked faintly.

Malfoy sat forward, “You're still- Thank Merlin.”

“What happened?”

“To Weasley?” Malfoy asked, “He didn't seem to realise it was me. He rambled about Granger for quite a while. I thought he was lucid at first and then he laughed for nearly ten minutes and went just as silent as the rest. It seems you're the only one who made it, Potter.”

“Don't call me that,” The mirror said quietly. 

“Don't call you-”

“That name! Don't call me that name!” The mirror snapped, “That's not _me_. That's him. I'm just a copy, I was just- I've only _been_ for seven months.”

“Technically, you were the same person until then,” Malfoy said.

“No. _NO_.” The mirror snarled, “He has a body, and a family and friends and I have _nothing!_ I can't touch or move or smell anything. Until you came along, I couldn't even speak! I was trapped in hell, thinking that if I held on long enough everything- e-everything-”

“It's... unfortunate,” Malfoy said.

“I thought of them,” the mirror whispered, “I remembered my- his life. It kept me from going mad... I- I just wanted to go back to them.”

Malfoy nodded silently.

The mirror added, “And it was all a lie....”

“And what are you going to do?” Malfoy asked.

“Do? _Do_? I can't _do_ anything! I'm a bloody picture frame!”

“A mirror,” Malfoy said, “And what I _meant_ , if you'd stop and listen for half a second, is are you going to give up or go on?”

“Go on... give up?” the mirror repeated numbly.

Malfoy stood, “I can, after all, destroy you if you'd prefer-”

“ _Destroy_ -!”

“ _Or_ , you can make a new life, can't you? You could start over. You can decide who you want to be,” Malfoy said.

“I'm still just a bloody mirror! What starting over is there?!” the mirror asked.

Malfoy smiled, “I thought you'd never ask.”

  


* * *

  


Beside, what turned out to be Malfoy personal study, was his workshop. There was a multitude of glassware and cauldrons, a worktable and shelves filled with bottles of strange and horrible things.

Malfoy carried the mirror into the corner of the room where a something... a figure of some sort lay on the wood.

“What... what is that?” the mirror asked.

Malfoy lifted the mirror so he could see better, “Just a clay figure right now. Do you know much about homunculi or golems?”

“A- What?” the mirror asked looked at the figure made of dark brown clay.

Malfoy sighed, “This is basic alchemy, Po- You. Even muggles know about golems.”

“I think I've heard of them, golems anyway. They're clay men, like this?”

“Yes. A golem is a soulless servant made of clay or stone. It can be ordered to do any task, but in the end, it's a tool. A golem cannot act or think on its own.” Malfoy said. “A homunculus, on the other hand, is a living, independent being formed mostly of blood magic.”

“That's....”

“Illegal, technically,” Malfoy finished. “I know. It's rather useless to me anyway because a homunculus is small, only about a foot high.”

“Useless? Useless why? What are you trying to do?” the mirror asked.

Malfoy propped the mirror up on the massive worktable in the centre of the room, “I want to make a man of course. Living breathing, indistinguishable from any other, man.”

“And you need me?”

Malfoy nodded excitedly, “A golem, made like a homunculus, with the mind of man.”

The mirror looked at the diagrams and notes littering the table, “I could... I could feel things again and walk and... taste? I suppose I wouldn't need to eat...”

Malfoy said, “It might occur you can do everything a person can. You would be the first after all. It's impossible to say for certain what will happen or if it will even be successful.”

“I see...” the mirror said hesitantly.

“You could be anyone,” Malfoy said, his voice soft and cajoling, “Polyjuice potion is mixed into the very fabric of the clay. Since there's no overriding person beneath, no inherit magical signature, once changed you would never change back.”

The mirror felt numb, mentally holding his breath as he waited for what he knew Malfoy was going to say.

“You could even have _his_ body, Potter...You could take the life, take his place. No one would ever know,” Malfoy murmured, a wicked gleam in his eye, “So. Who do you want to be?”

“I-” he hesitated, “...Let me think.”

“Of course,” Malfoy said, leaning back. “Where do you want to think?”

“The window.”

  


* * *

  


“You said I could be anyone?” the mirror asked.

Malfoy took the mirror out of the window, an excited gleam in his eye, “Anyone.”

“Just one person or could I mix two people?”

Malfoy's brow furrowed.

“I don't want to be anyone else. I want to be someone new. If I mixed two hairs, would I be like a mix of the two of them?” the mirror asked. 

Malfoy took out a quill and wrote down a few lines on a sheet of parchment, “Perhaps...” he tapped the feather against his chin, “I'll do some tests.” He turned to the mirror, “You know who you want to be then? Is it-?”

“Not _him_.” the mirror said, “I want to be a Black. Sirius Black was the closest thing I ever had to family- ...he had to family.”

“My mother and I are the only living Blacks in England,” Malfoy said.

“Sirius grew up in Grimmauld place-”

“That-” Malfoy shook his head, “Potter owns that property-”

“And I know where it is,” the mirror said, “I know how to get past the wards. I know where Sirius' room is, and his brother's. I want both of them. I want to be a mix of Sirius and Regulus. 

Malfoy was silent, tapping the quill uneasily on the desktop.

“He never fixed the place up or cleaned it out. Finding a hair or two wouldn't be hard. Especially in Regulus' room, it was left untouched,” the mirror said.

“You're asking a lot,” Malfoy said.

The mirror said, “The least you can do is make me who I want to be.”

Malfoy frowned.

“You _need_ me.”

Malfoy grimaced and nodded reluctantly, “Very well, Mr Black.”

“Mr Black,” Black repeated with vindictive satisfaction.

  


* * *

  


It was raining. Black could hear it all around them as Malfoy carried him up the dark streets to Grimmauld Place. He didn't have to ask when they arrived; he heard the building sliding out from where it was concealed once Malfoy was close enough. Malfoy shifted his grip on the mirror as he took out his wand and began murmuring the spells that would allow him through the wards.

As soon as they were inside Malfoy shook off his water sodden cloak with a muttered complaint.

“Who are you?” a shrill woman's voice asked.

Malfoy froze only for a moment then answered smoothly, “Walburga Black. Don't worry. I won't be long. I'm just causing some trouble for the filthy half-blood that stole this place.”

The old woman's portrait was still curtained over, but her silence seemed to be permission enough. Malfoy would have to hurry regardless. _He_ had set all his wards to be in tune with his magical signature. If he wasn't asleep, he might notice the change, and they'd find themselves in an unpleasant situation. 

Malfoy trudged up the stairs, trying his weight on every creaking step before moving up. Black would have chastised him but Malfoy's caution proved prudent when one of the steps, damp with rot, snapped like a soggy crisp.

“Regulus' room is on the right,” Black said when they reached the top floor.

Malfoy stepped inside, lighting the room with a lumos and setting the mirror on the bed. Regulus was a very tidy person but, amongst the settled dust, he found ten black hairs in between the floorboards.

Sirius' room was harder; he'd run away when he was sixteen, and the Kreacher had been very thorough in his departure.

“Are there any clothes?” Black asked, staring at a stained ceiling from the small desk he'd been left on. “Muggle clothes might have been left untouched; there might be something caught on them.”

“...There's an ugly leather jacket,” Malfoy said, “and three long hairs caught in the zipper. There might be more-” Malfoy's breath caught, “The wards-”

And down below the door opened.

“Who's there?” _His_ voice boomed through the house, “You've broken into private property!”

“Hey! We have to go!” Black hissed, “We have to leave now, before he changes the wards!”

The floors creaked as _He_ moved slowly down the entrance hall towards the stairs, “I don't know what you're after but if you surrender now things will be a lot easier.” 

“Pick me up and apparate us out of here!” Black snapped.

“I've already called for backup.” _He_ shouted as he started up the stairs, “I'd rather finish this before they get here. Wouldn't you?”

“Damn it! Move you useless fuck!” Black shouted.

Malfoy moved, stumbling over to the desk, as below _He_ started running up the stairs.

“shitshitshit” Malfoy repeated like a mantra under his breath as he fumbled for his wand, his face even paler than normal.

There was a crash and a snarl of pain as _He_ fell through the broken stair.

“ _Go_ ,” Black ordered.

Malfoy nodded and apparated them back to the manor.

  


* * *

  


Malfoy sat panting on the floor after they landed, hands shaking. He was still holding onto Sirius' old leather jacket, his eyes too wide.

“You got everything?” Black asked.

The jacket crumpled as Malfoy's grip tightened, “You complete and utter asshole!”

“Me?” Black said, “I wasn't the one that froze.”

Malfoy shot to his feet, hurling the crumpled leather onto the floor, “You're a bloody useless mirror! Whose ego and- and brash, moronic tendencies haven't changed at all since school!”

“I've never been to school,” Black said icily, “ _I'm not him._ ”

“ _HA_! In everything but body. And we both know you would give anything to have your life back!” Malfoy snapped and stomped out of the room before Black could respond.

Black seethed, “ _Fuck_ Him. _Fuck_ His perfect little life. _Fuck_ Him for making me and leaving me to die.” Black wished he could hit something, do anything other than stare at a vaulted ceiling. “And we both bloody well know you came to find me in that room!” he yelled into the empty room for his own satisfaction, “ _You_ picked _me_ you fucking prat!”

Too soon the anger passed and left boredom in its wake, with only the slowly changing light and the stretching shadows to tell him the passage of time.

Malfoy didn't return until the next morning, picking Black up with a frown. Dark circles ringed his eyes, “I've decided I can't be around you as much as I have. It's bad for my nerves.”

Black laughed, “Your nerves?!”

Malfoy sneered at him and went on, “But of course, I can't have you going mad.”

“That would certainly be a tragedy,” Black said flatly.

Malfoy's face twitched. He turned and turned the mirror towards the floor, showing Black a child-sized clay person that looked like a peg doll with stumpy round legs and stumpy round arms that ended in little round fingers. It had no mouth or nose, or any features whatsoever aside from two eye holes filled with red light.

“This golem is for your use,” Malfoy said, “It will take you anywhere in the manor and out in the gardens. It can get books, hold them and turn pages for you. Just stay inside the walls. My golems are powered by the core of this estate. If you leave, it will dissolve. Understand?”

“Yeah, I think so-”

“Fine.” Malfoy interrupted shortly and turned the mirror around, putting it into the outstretched arms of the golem, “I have a lot of work to do. So don't interrupt me.” He started leaving and paused, saying over his shoulder, “You ought to pick out a proper name. I left an astronomy book out on one of the tables of the library.”

  


* * *

  


Black didn't go to the library. He ordered the golem to take him outside. The golem moved slowly but so smoothly it was almost like he was floating. The faint _tmph tmph_ of the golem's little feet was the only sign he was being carried.

He had the golem to circle the massive, dour Malfoy manor and then to the many flower beds. It was nice, at first, seeing all the blooming flowers and pale green grass up close. But somehow it made everything worse. When he watched through the window, he didn't have to think about how he couldn't feel the wind or the sun. He didn't have to think about how he was forever bound to a window. That.... that he'd never actually felt the sun or wind. That every food he had a memory of eating was a fabric of His life. It was all a lie of something he'd never had or would have. 

The golem held him on a low sloping hill, and Black watched a breeze move across the grass. He watched the sunset and the stars move across the sky and sunrise again, covered by clouds. It rained all day and into the night. The next day dawned in heavy blankets of fog that weren't burned off until the sun was high and yet by evening it was drizzling again. Black lost track of how many days passed.

The world startled into movement when the golem picked up the mirror without warning and trundled him back inside. The golem didn't respond to any of Black's orders. Black wasn't even sure where they were going until the golem pushed its way into Malfoy's workroom. 

“There you are,” Malfoy said as the door closed, not bothering to look up from the mess of papers strewn across his table, “I thought maybe you'd gotten lost. Or the golem had fallen down the stairs and smashed. They're not good at stairs.” He looked up and frowned faintly, “You're starting to rust.”

“... I was outside,” Black said faintly, not certain of his own voice.

Malfoy straightened up, “What? Since I saw you last?”

“Yeah,” Black said.

“It's been over two weeks! What were you doing?” Malfoy asked.

Black felt confused, “Watching.”

“Watching what?”

“Everything,” Black said.

Malfoy stared at him, his breathing a little too fast. He looked down at the table and shook his head, “It's just as well I called you here to tell you I'm going to do it tomorrow.”

“Do-?”

“The transfer, to the new- _your_ new body,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the clay figure. It looked far more human now, like a mannequin.

Black stared at the figure.

“Po-Black?”

“Will... you be able to control me like you do the golem?” Black asked.

Malfoy started to shake his head.

“Because I think I'd rather be dead.”

Malfoy started, “Merlin, Black. _No_. I can control the golems because they have no free will. The entire point of using your consciousness is that you have free will.”

“That's good,” Black said.

Malfoy hesitated, “There is-” he cleared his throat, “The only way to maintain the new golem is to tie it to the house core.”

“I won't be able to leave the grounds,” Black said.

“This body is more fragile than a human one. If it crumbles your consciousness will die. You will die,” Malfoy said reluctantly.

“Fine.” Black said.

Malfoy tapped his fingers on the table, “Did you pick out a name at least?”

Black said the first constellation that came to mind, “Orion.”

Malfoy nodded, “Hopefully it will be a name I can actually put to use. You may go. I'll have the golem bring you in the morning when I'm ready.”

  


* * *

  


Black wondered what it would be like to die. But then he also had to wonder what it would be like to live as well, truly live. 

He had the golem take him back to the window in Malfoy's study and watched the world until the morning came and the golem carried him back to the workroom.

Malfoy picked him up and set the mirror beside the clay figure's head, “I can't guarantee this will work. I can't guarantee anything will happen for certain.”

“Just do it,” Black said. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “I plan to.” He lifted his wand, “This might hurt. Or it may feel like nothing at all.” He began chanting a string of spells, his wand moving between the mirror and the clay form in a figure eight.

Everything went dark.

Black couldn't hear or see.

It was just like-

And then he was being stretched, his seams being pulled loose, threads snapping with a sort of breathless shock and then a breath- it hurt to take. Black felt so heavy. He felt like a thousand pounds, a mountain laid on the soil and begged to move. He breathed. The wood under his back was too hard and rough. So rough- it was too much. It was- he wanted it gone, it was so much it hurt.

He groaned with a far deeper voice than he remembered.

“Merlin-” Malfoy said faintly, “It worked?”

Black pressed his hands to the table, tried to push himself up, but it hurt. He clutched his hands to his chest. He could touch his own skin at least. It was smooth and delicate as a child's.

The smell hit him all at once- chemical and rot mixed with sweet cloying herbs. He gagged and covered his nose, tears pricking at his eyes.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” Malfoy asked.

“Too much,” Black choked out, “stinks, table hurts.”

Malfoy nodded, “Of course, after being without those senses for nearly eight months you would be overly sensitive to them.” He waved his wand and levitated Black up off the table and out of the room.

The smells eased, but the hall was cold and he was soon racked with shivers. Black couldn't keep track of what was happening. All his mind seemed to be able to focus on was the new and overwhelming sensations that assaulted him from every direction. 

The world slowly began to make sense. Smells were the easiest to get slowly used to. Malfoy had put him in a bed with silk sheets that were not awful, in a room that smelled only faintly of freshly laundered linens. He was able to manage the blandest foods, gruel, unbuttered toast, and worked to incorporate more flavours over time. The carpets would still made his feet ache when he got up to piss, but he got used them. He got used to everything. 

He pulled on his first shirt and trousers, spelled to fit him and made of a soft, delicate fabric woven with heating charms. He had to use a cane to lean on, his feet still aching from trying to stand for more than a few moments at a time. 

Malfoy was there, as he always seemed to be, his eyes glittering with fierce pride, “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Black said, his voice still sounding strange in his own ears.

Malfoy nodded, “You look better. Your appearance- It's quite uncanny how much you resemble the Black brothers, but you're just different enough.”

“I look-?” Black said reaching up to drag his fingers through the black hair that reached past his shoulders.

“You look to be a teenager I would wager.” Malfoy went on taking out his wand, “I had doubts about your request, but mixing two hairs of people already dead was quite clever.” he conjured a full-length mirror in front of Black. “You see?”

Black saw himself reflected in a mirror-

His knuckles burned as he pulled his hand back, glass shattering to the ground around his feet.

Malfoy stared in shock. It took him several seconds to gather his wits about himself enough to vanish the broken mess, “I suppose I should have anticipated that.” Malfoy said flatly, “I shall have all the mirrors in the manor removed in all due haste.”

Black grimaced at his bleeding knuckles. He could remember the brief flash he saw of himself, pale and thin, and dark of hair, looking like the haunted corpse of a man.

“Let me heal that,” Malfoy said, holding his wand out and then freezing. He spun back towards the door his eyes widening in alarm, “Someone's here. You-” he waved at Black as he hurried through the door, wand still clutched tightly in hand, “I'll be back.”

Black tightened his grip on his cane, grimacing with each step as he followed Malfoy's disappearing back down the hallway. Once he lost sight of Malfoy, he followed the faint sound of voices, familiar voices that made his jaw clench tightly in unnamed rage. Black finally reached the foyer where he found Malfoy, tense as a coiled spring, stiffly answering questions from two aurors.

“If you didn't find any trace of my being there,” Malfoy said, “I don't see how you can accuse me of-”

“We're not accusing you of anything, Malfoy,” Ron Weasley said.

“You said I was a suspect in, what? Some sort house robbery?” Malfoy said sourly, “Do you really think I would stoop so low?”

“We have a lot of suspects,” Harry Potter said, “We'd like your fingerprints.”

“My what?” Malfoy snapped.

Potter held up his hands and wiggled his fingers, “Fingerprints. Everyone's are different. Even muggles have managed fingerprinting.”

Malfoy frowned, “I don't see why I ought to give you anything with all these accusations-!”

“It's not looking good, you putting up this much of a fuss,” Weasley said.

They all turned as the floor creaked under Black's cane. 

Potter went ashen as Black slowly limped his way down the hall.

Weasley's eyes widened, “Is that-?”

“Sirius...?” Potter asked faintly.

Black slowly passed Malfoy. He stopped just in front of Potter and stared down at him.

“This is my cousin,” Malfoy said, “Orion Black. He's staying with me to recover from a long illness.”

“O-Oh,” Potter said, “You look like- like someone I knew. Sirius Black.”

Black nodded, “Yes.”

“They're related, distantly,” Malfoy said, “I've been telling Orion about them. Now, why don't you leave and let my cousin get back to his rest.”

“Fingerprints,” Weasley prompted Potter under his breath.

Potter swallowed hard and shook his head.

Weasley sighed, “We'll be back, Malfoy.”

Malfoy watched them go with his arms folded tightly across his chest. When the door clicked firmly shut, he muttered darkly, “When you come back you can speak with my lawyer.”

Black turned back towards Malfoy, his mind a muggy whirlwind of things half remembered and half forcibly forgotten, “I hate them.”

Malfoy smirked faintly, “Yes. I do as well.” He stretched out his hands, “Do you know anything about fingerprints?”

“I know what he meant,” Black said.

Malfoy slowly dropped his hands, “They'll have to be changed.”

“Yes,” Black agreed.

“And there's one particular mirror that needs to be vanished just to be safe.”

  


* * *

  


The aurors came back, but by then Malfoy had transfigured his fingerprints. He let the aurors take them but referred all other questions to his lawyer. Black's mirror was destroyed, and the wards and secret walls hiding Malfoy's study and workroom had been reinforced several times over as well.

Black walked, as much as he could, as far as he could and slowly got stronger. He couldn't bring himself to stop, being able to see and move and feel, he never wanted to be without ever again. So he moved and looked at everything, smelled touched everything he could. 

Black properly explored the Manor for the first time. And found it empty. Half the rooms were locked, a great many of the rest were full of sheet-covered furniture and an untouched layer of dust. There was no sign of Malfoy's parents. There were no house elves. It was just Malfoy, his silent golems and Black. 

Black didn't like sleep. His body demanded so much of it and that moment he had to lay down with his eyes closed as sleep came felt far too much like being trapped in the mirror all over again. So he didn't sleep. He avoided it as much as he could, even when his mind felt like it was unravelling at the edges.

The aurors didn't come back again, though Black had been certain they would. Instead, it was Malfoy, returning in a flurry after one of his rare outings.

Malfoy tracked down Black in the gardens, snarling through his teeth, “Those _bastards_!”

Black waited, knowing Malfoy would fill the silence.

“They barred me from the Department of Mysteries! What right do they have-!” He broke off to growl in frustration.

“You don't work there,” Black said.

Malfoy glared at him, “As if that absolute moron in Alchemical studies would have managed even a modicum of the work he has without my help! And they're monitoring my potion ingredient purchases. I've been barred from buying several very important things I _need_ for my work.”

Black cupped his hand around a rose, running his thumb over the soft petals.

“Potter has gone too far this time. He thinks he can do whatever he likes. He'll regret this," Malfoy hissed and stormed back to the manor. 

Black slowly unclenched his hand, letting petals flutter to the ground. 

  


* * *

  


Malfoy stayed in his workroom for- Black didn't know. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he realised he hadn't seen Malfoy for a while. Black couldn't enter Malfoy's workroom nor was there anyone to ask what he was doing in there. The small golems that worked around the manor had neither minds nor voices and wouldn't obey Black anyway. 

One night, Malfoy burst into Black's room when he was meant to be sleeping but couldn't stand the blackness behind his eyes.

Malfoy was thin, his hair a greasy knotted mess, he looked like hadn't slept for days, and his clothes were wrinkled and thin from repeated reckless cleaning charms. He approached Black with a long necklace clutched in both hands, a silver gilded, blood coloured gem hanging from the heavy chain. He placed it over Black's neck and slipped the stone under his shirt where it buzzed faintly against his skin. In one hand Malfoy pressed two glass marbles, in the other, a knife.

“The gem contains enough power to keep you alive for an hour, perhaps more,” Malfoy said, his voice shaking, “The marbles are portkeys, I made them. They're very very illegal,” he grinned manically, “One will drop you right on Potter's doorstep. The other will bring you back. You only have twenty minutes, but that should be plenty.”

Black lifted the knife.

“Just a knife,” Malfoy said.

“You want me to kill him?” Black asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Malfoy shrugged, “Kill him, scare him, destroy his couch. It's up to you.”

“Why me? Why not you?” Black asked.

Malfoy shook his head, “Me? No. HA. _No_. I'd be caught. I'd freeze like I did before. I'm a coward. But you-” He wrapped his hand around Blacks holding the knife. “You hate him.” Malfoy nodded encouragingly, “Potter did this to you. He took everything from you. Look at you! Look at what you've become!”

Black caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and flinched at the gaunt figure he saw there, looking more like Sirius than ever, the Sirius he- Potter had known, a prison haunted man.

“You hate him,” Malfoy repeated softly, “He made you- he selfishly made you and left you to suffer and die in the dark. He left you to go mad with nothing- _nothing_ of your own.”

Black picked up his leather jacket and squeezed the marbles tight to his palms, “Twenty minutes.”

“Yes,” Malfoy nodded.

“When?” Black asked.

“Any moment n-”

Black's feet hit the cobbled path of the front garden of the neat little house with the blue trim. The night was pleasantly cool, and Black took a moment to slip his jacket on. Clouds blocked most of the light from the sky. A single muggle porch light cast a gloom across the untidy bushes and neatly trimmed lawn. 

Black could feel the wards of the place at his back Malfoy had somehow managed to transport him inside them. There were no lights coming on, no shouts or even whispers of warning. He had twenty minutes.

Black didn't bother with the front door. He knew Potter would have covered them in detection spells that would hurt anyone unfamiliar. The back door would be even worse, but it had been a hot day, and the breeze was gentle. He quietly walked around the house, testing every window until he found one that slid open under his fingers. 

He put the marbles in his pocket, and climbed into the kitchen. It still smelled faintly of fish. Ginny always opened the windows after they had fish, even in the middle of winter. He moved slowly, letting his mind guide his feet automatically, to avoid the squeaky floorboard, the picture of the Weasley's that stuck out a little too far and up the steps, stepping on the outside, so only the faintest creak was left to give him away. At the top of the landing, he turned toward the end of the hall and master bedroom at the end.

Black tightened his grip on the knife.

He took a step forward and froze when he heard the soft sound from an open door, a small sound like a gurgled sigh.

Black followed the sound into the room with its walls painted like a quidditch pitch with players flying around in a silent match. A night-light shaped like a star showed Black the crib against the wall. 

Black leaned over the side. There was a beautiful little baby with just a trace of black hair that already was already unruly, and a face that was so familiar. The baby sleepily opened his eyes and blinked at Black with vibrant green eyes.

Black dropped the knife, the point sticking in the wood, and slipped his hands carefully under the little bundle. The baby starting to flail and make soft noises, not certain if he was going to cry.

Black held him gently to his chest, stroking the back of the baby's head, “Shhh, it's alright. Everything's going to be alright,” he murmured.

The baby gripped his shirt, and Black placed a hand on the baby's back. Outside, a door quietly clicked open, and the hall floor creaked as sleepy feet stumbled down towards the nursery, arriving only to find an empty crib and an abandoned knife.

  


* * *

  


Malfoy started forward in his chair as Black appeared in his study, spilling whisky across his robes, “You're- What- What happened?”

Black ignored him, gently rocking back and forth, rubbing a soothing hand over the baby's back, who was starting to cry in great heaving sobs from the shock of being portkeyed.

“Merlin.” Malfoy said faintly, “Fucking Merlin,” he hiccuped and looked a bit ill, “You took the baby. You- You took- Merlin.”

“Everything's going to be alright,” Black said softly, bouncing the baby gently in his arms.

Malfoy started to laugh and forced his hand over his mouth to stifle the hysterical giggles.

“I'll need a crib and bottles, diapers, food,” Black nodded as he spoke, “And toys, lots of toys, and books and stuffed animals.”

Malfoy stood, wobbling on his feet, “This is- is _perfect_. This better than I could have ever imagined.”

“You're going to be so happy,” Black said, “You're going to have a perfect life.”

“Glamours can make him look like he's mine. I'll find someone I can say was the mother, a few memory modifications and enough galleons to keep them quiet...” Malfoy mused, “I could make some polyjuice variations with my hair, I think my mother kept some from when I was young. A polyjuice that works like yours Black.”

“I'll keep you safe,” Black murmured as the baby finally began to quiet even though he continued to squirm.

“And we'll call him...” Malfoy thought for a moment, “...Scorpius.”

“That's not his name,” Black said.

Malfoy tsked at him, “Of course not. It's just for the aurors and the papers. It's so we're not caught, Black. You don't want them to take him away do you?”

“They can't have him!” Black snarled, and the baby started crying again, “He's mine! He's my- my-” he stuttered and broke off. Black looked down at the little bundle in his arms, squeezing out tears between wails. Out of the corner of his eye, Black saw his reflection in the window.

“There's so much to do,” Malfoy said, heading out the door, “I have so much to get done and not much time to do it in.” he pulled the door shut behind him.

Black sat in one of the empty chairs in front of the fire. He gently rocked and murmured soft promises to the baby until he finally began to doze off from sheer exhaustion.

Black gently touched his cheek, and the baby grabbed his finger for just a second before he fell asleep, “That's right. Go to sleep. I'll keep you safe because... I'm your godfather, and I'll keep you safe, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it and I'd love to hear from you♡♡♡


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